Drafts.

drafts

Sometimes when I write,
I want to kick myself.

Foreshadowing in everything.

Once I wrote about a dream where you fell,
No, you jumped.

I laughed at the time, describing the image
of you standing in front of me,
simply walking off the edge.

A few weeks later you were in an alleyway,
and I was in the garbage beside you.

Sometimes when I write,
I want to hide each word.

Symbolism in everything.

Once I wrote about those necklaces,
A rabbit and a key.

I used a typewriter on the floor
to compose some flowery love poem
about jewelry and girls.

Now you are on the other side of the country.
And I can’t get into the apartment.

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